


Sealing Deals with the Devil

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Deals, Dubious Consent, Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m still the King of Hell, Dean. Did you honestly think a kiss would be enough to seal a deal with me?”</p><p>(An AU of <i>Holy Terror</i> where Dean somehow manages to trap Gadreel before Kevin is killed, but he still needs Crowley’s help getting him out of Sam’s body.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sealing Deals with the Devil

The moment Dean barges into Crowley’s cell, doors flying open and banging hard against the walls, Crowley knows something’s happened. Something big. And more importantly, something bad.

“My, my, somebody’s impatient to see me!” Crowley watches the Winchester stride purposefully across the room towards him. “You’ve been neglecting me lately.”

Dean punches him, hard. “Shut up and listen.” His voice sounds tightly controlled but it’s clear there are some very wild emotions bubbling dangerously close under the surface. “Here’s the deal. There’s an angel inside my brother, a bad guy.”

This is something even Crowley wasn’t expecting and so for once, he stays silent and listens as he’s told.

“The angel is pulling Sam’s strings so Sam can’t expel him,” the hunter goes on, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. “Me and Kevin got him trapped in a Holy Oil circle, but we can’t get him out of Sam.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Crowley finishes when Dean pauses, looking down at his boots, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “You want me to evict the unwanted tenant from his flat.”

Dean looks up, meets Crowley’s eyes. “Can you do it or not?”

Shrugging, Crowley stretches his hands as far as they can go, chains rattling as he moves. He takes his time before answering. “Maybe I can, maybe I can’t. It’s all a matter of motivation.” He cracks his neck left, then right. “So go on, Squirrel. Motivate me.”

“You get the angel out, I let you walk free.” There is no hesitation.

Again, this takes Crowley by surprise. He was expecting something along the lines of _you’ll get a room with a view_ or _we’ll let you make another phone call_ , he was fully prepared for having to bargain for his freedom. But actually no, on second thought, this isn’t unexpected at all. Dean sold his soul so his brother could live, he refused to shut the gates of Hell so his brother could live, so of course he’ll let Crowley go if it means he’ll have his brother back.

Crowley gives a nod. “That sounds good to me.”

Dean watches him suspiciously, body tense. “So do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” Crowley rises one finger in warning. “And now we seal it.” He puckers his lips and looks at the man in front of him expectantly. “Don’t play coy, Winchester, come give me a kiss.”

Glowering and obviously very unhappy about the situation, Dean still steps closer and leans in.

Just before their lips meet, Crowley gets a brilliant idea and quickly pulls away.

Dean straightens up and glowers some more. “What now?”

Leaning his head back, Crowley lets his eyes travel over the hunter’s body before finally settling his gaze on Dean’s angry and now slightly confused face. “I’m still the King of Hell, Dean. Did you honestly think a kiss would be enough to seal a deal with me?”

The man stares at him dumbly and Crowley patiently waits until realization finally dawns on Dean’s face and directly after that, Dean’s expression becomes guarded and blank. “We don’t have time for riddles, Crowley, so just spill it out. What exactly do you want?”

“My dick, your ass. You do the math.”

Dean doesn’t even try to haggle, just asks, “When?”

“Oh, eager already, I like that.” Crowley wriggles in his chair a bit, makes himself comfortable, elbows on the chair’s armrests and fingers laced together. “How about now, you dimwit?”

Dean remains calm and cool-headed. “Once we do it the deal is sealed, and then you save Sam.”

“And then you let me go,” Crowley adds. “Yes, that’s roughly about how I envision it.”

Dean nods curtly. “Give me ten minutes.”

Shrugging benevolently because he knows he has the upper hand, he has the power here despite the chains around his wrists, Crowley says, “It’s your time.”

*

Just for the kicks, Crowley actually counts the minutes in his head, curious to see if Dean will be back on time. He’s at nine minutes and forty-nine seconds when he hears Dean’s footsteps approaching at a brisk pace and at nine fifty-eight the door swings open and the elder Winchester walks in, doesn’t acknowledge Crowley in any way, instead turning his back to him to close and even lock the door.

“Not too keen on having Kevin or somebody else walking in on us, I take it?” And wouldn’t that be smashing, making things even worse for Dean by forcing him to perform in front of an audience?

“Not really,” Dean replies and walks to the table in the centre of the room. Without another word, he begins methodically stripping off his clothes, neatly folding each item of clothing and placing it on the table. He keeps his eyes on the floor and his movements are purposive and efficient, like a soldier’s, which makes Crowley think that Dean is doing this to put some distance between himself and his situation, to make this into one more simple task to carry out.

Well, that’s not going to cut it. Crowley doesn’t only want the surrender of Dean’s body, he wants the surrender of his mind as well. He wants Dean to be present and actively participating in this. “Look at me,” he orders and watches that nervous muscle in Dean’s jaw jump again before Dean obeys, meeting Crowley’s gaze with cold, detached eyes. Now that’s slightly better.

Crowley waits until Dean is completely undressed before issuing his next command. “Come here, Dean, show me what I’m buying.”

“You’re not buying anything.” But Dean follows the order, stands in front of Crowley, feet slightly apart and hands hanging loosely at the sides, and he raises his head to stare right ahead, eyes front like he’s waiting for inspection, before he remembers Crowley’s earlier command and fixes his eyes on him instead.

“Good boy,” Crowley praises him, chuckling at the way Dean obviously bristles at the comment but manages to keep his reactions under control. “Now let’s take a look at you.”

See, if asked for his perfect ideal of aesthetical beauty, Crowley would probably remain faithful to what had been considered beautiful in women at the time when he was young and still human. Pale, fair skin, round faces, big dark eyes and small yet full lips, a plump yet firm body with seductive curves; nothing like those sickly, skinny, bony bimbos that pass for fashion models these days.

The visual aspect isn’t what matters the most, though. What really makes Crowley take interest in a person is their fighting spirit, the strong mind, the resistance, and Dean has plenty of that, even though he’s behaving himself now, for his brother’s sake. Crowley has no illusions; he knows that Dean would never be this meek, this obedient, if he didn’t need Crowley’s help so badly.

But what makes this so sweet is the fact that Dean _does_ need Crowley’s help, and so he keeps all the caustic, barbed comments that are undoubtedly at the tip of his tongue to himself, and bears Crowley’s scrutiny in silence, waiting for further instructions.

Just to make the hunter squirm, Crowley gives a wolf whistle as he lets his eyes wander over his naked body. “No wonder you have such success with the ladies, Dean. You are quite the sight.” And it’s true. Dean looks surprisingly slight without his usual three layers on, not nearly as much bulk as Crowley had expected, but still these are strong, hard muscles rippling under that pale, scarred skin as Dean shifts his stance when Crowley motions for him to turn around.

“Can we get on with it already?” Dean asks, irritation clear in his voice, when he turns back to face Crowley again. “I don’t have all day.”

“Bossy. But you’re right. Let’s get this show started.” Chains rattling and clinking as he moves, Crowley opens the front of his pants and takes himself out. He’s already fully hard, has been from the moment he realized what exactly was going to happen here. He strokes himself slowly with one hand, watching Dean watching him. “How about you put that pretty mouth to use, boy?”

Dean licks his lips unconsciously and shakes his head. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“It is now. You do exactly what I tell you or I’ll just sit back and won’t lift a finger to help your precious brother.”

“You do that and you’re stuck here till you rot.”

Raising his eyebrows, Crowley tilts his head to one side. “Really? Are you sure? Because the way I see it, you’re desperate. Out of options. I’m your best shot, or even better, your only shot. So I don’t think you’re in a position to make any threats or demands, here.”

Dean closes his eyes for a brief moment and swallows uneasily, and then, without uttering a word, he drops to his knees between Crowley’s spread legs, wraps his lips around Crowley’s cock and sucks like he was made for this. Not that his technique is particularly stellar, but it’s very clear he’s doing his best to please, and that alone more than makes up for the lack of skill. And if you throw in the tightly closed eyes and the embarrassed flush that spreads across the hunter’s cheeks…

It’s a bloody miracle Crowley doesn’t shoot his load right then.

Oh, if only Abaddon could see this, she’d go green with envy. A Winchester on his knees, showing who exactly is the only true King of Hell, who’s the boss…

Pulling away with an obscene wet slurp, Dean turns his face up, abruptly tearing Crowley out of his fantasy. “You’re getting too happy. I hope you don’t want me to just finish you off like this.”

“What?”

Somehow Dean manages to pull off an extremely annoyed and disgusted look even with his face mere inches from Crowle’y cock, swollen lips shining with spit and smeared with pre-come. “Sealing the deal, remember? Your dick, my ass, the end.”

Oh, the cheekiness, the rebelliousness, the burning hate! …and yet when it comes to it, Dean will do what he’s told.

“Alright, Winchester, hop on.”

In one fluid move, Dean stands up and reaches for his jeans, pulls out a small tube of lubricant. “Mind if I ease things a little bit or do you want to make me bleed?" He asks, businesslike, like this isn't his ass they're talking about. "‘Cause I gotta warn you, I ain’t gonna whine and cry either way.”

Truth be told, Crowley originally wanted to make it hurt, but now it would only make him look petty, so he decides to leave the choice to the hunter. “Fine, princess. If you can't take it like a man...”

Dean doesn’t rise to the bait though, just squeezes some of the substance into his palm and uses it to slick Crowley up before wiping the rest on the lapel of Crowley’s jacket. Holding Crowley’s gaze, he straddles him, takes his cock in hand to hold it in place and starts sinking down, fumbling a bit at first as he tries to get the position right, but when he finds it, the progress is unexpectedly easy and Crowley realizes Dean must’ve prepared himself before he came here.

The image of the hunter alone in his room, touching himself in a way he hasn’t touched himself before – judging by the awkward, unpracticed way he moves in Crowley’s lap – and doing it with the knowledge of what will be taken from him…

Again, it takes all of Crowley’s willpower not to come on the spot.

“That good, huh?” Dean quips in a strained voice that betrays his discomfort as he fully impales himself on Crowley’s cock.

“Could be even better. Start moving.”

Dean does, exhibiting unusual and strangely admirable self-control, his movements sure and automatic once he finds the right pace, like this is some exercise. Well, that’s not good enough.

“Stop treating me like I’m not even here, Dean,” Crowley growls and tweaks Dean’s nipple roughly, hoping for a reaction but getting none save for the slight, barely perceptible hitching of Dean’s otherwise steady, controlled breath.  Dean just keeps giving him the same irritatingly blank, detached look. “Hey, I’m a paying customer, I’m entitled to a little more enthusiasm. Give me a little show, work for it, make me come.”

Dean’s expression doesn’t change.

“Come on, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean! I’m sure there were countless truckers or bikers at those roadhouses you like visiting so much who told you what exactly makes you so pretty, weren’t they?”

Something flickers in Dean’s eyes, but before Crowley has the time to analyze it, it’s gone and Dean’s eyes are empty again.

But Dean does as he’s told, arches his back, licks his lips, puts himself on display, puts on a show of skin and muscles and strength and surrender. Perfect, or nearly perfect, the only blemish on the image being Dean’s flaccid cock, but then again, at least this way Dean is bound to remember what exactly is his part in this, so yes, this _is_ perfect  indeed.

Crowley grins, feels his orgasm approaching. “That’s it, boy. I knew you had it in you. Maybe you’re not as inexperienced as I thought after all. Maybe you’ve done this before, when you were younger and pretty and innocent and poor Sammy was hungry.”

“Shut up,” Dean snarls and speeds up his pace, obviously trying to hurry things up.

“Oh, did I touch a nerve?” Crowley laughs, enjoying himself like he hasn’t in years. “Anything for Sammy, right? Who knows, maybe you even gave it up to him? Let him have you? It sure would explain a lot of things.”

“Shut up,” Dean repeats, and if looks could kill, Crowley would be a smoking pile of dust on the floor. “Just shut up.”

Naturally, Crowley doesn’t. “Or if not your brother, then maybe Castiel? That angel seems awfully fond of you.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me Dean, how did you repay him for saving you from Hell? Did you–“

Crowley is suddenly silenced by the violent press of Dean’s lips against his own, and he’s so surprised at this turn of events that he doesn’t even fight it when Dean’s tongue slips inside his mouth, hard and demanding and brutal, conveying all the aggression and disgust and hate Dean feels for Crowley and undoubtedly also for himself, and that’s all it takes to take Crowley over the edge.

Dean pulls off and away as soon as Crowley is done coming, steps back and starts putting on his clothes with the same methodical, soldier-like discipline as when he was putting them off. “The deal’s done, right?” He asks matter-of-factly, as if the deal’s been closed with a signature on paper.

Sighing, Crowley tucks himself away and does up his pants before admitting, “Yes, it’s done.”

“Good. Now the important part.” Dean finishes getting dressed and fishes out a set of keys from his pocket. “You go save my brother.”

He blindfolds Crowley before releasing the chains that kept Crowley bound to the chair, tugs at the chain running between his wrists to get Crowley to follow him. “Come on, let’s go.”

As they walk through what seems like long hallways and a couple of stairways, Crowley briefly regrets not taking more from Dean. He’s sure he could’ve gotten the man to sell his soul for Sam again if he wanted, and he’s just as sure that many other demons would grab that chance by the balls (Dean’s, of course) just to take the hunter down a peg or two.

But unlike many demons, Crowley is smart, cautious and forethoughtful, and he knows too much greed will only destroy your business.

More importantly though, he also knows that the undying loyalty that Dean holds for his brother actually goes both ways and if Crowley took Sam’s brother from him again, there would be no place on Earth or in Hell for him to hide from the younger Winchester’s wrath.

And that’s why he’ll settle himself for only having Dean once, and after he expels the angel from Sam’s body and Dean lets him go, Crowley will find himself a nice place with a real comfy chair and spend a nice evening with a bottle of forty-year-old Craig and one very, very sweet memory.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I could've easily made this more canon-compliant and place this into _Road Trip_ but I'd feel extremely bad about writing (and enjoying) this dirtybadwrong ficlet in a universe where Kevin is dead, so hence the AU-ness.


End file.
